


And They Have Their Strategies

by greyscalemuse



Series: Sherlock Holmes Has Two Soldier Boyfriends [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, But mostly porn, Joltolock, M/M, Minor Angst, More Sherlock Holmes getting taken care of by John and James, Other, Polyamory, Rimming, So much smut, Threesome - M/M/M, porn with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5808817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyscalemuse/pseuds/greyscalemuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has his moods depending on how a case goes, so of course John and James know exactly how to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And They Have Their Strategies

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god, you guys. I've been working on this thing for DAYS. It's a beast (for me, anyway). But for those of you who want more Joltolock - here it is! Please mind the plot stuck at the end. It's the only way I could feasibly keep this going without burning out on how much sex these boys have.
> 
> Keep in mind, this has been un-Beta'd and un-Britpicked!

As Sherlock understood it, when James Sholto had been injured in a surprise attack, John Watson and he made a promise. If John ever made it back to London, he was to find James and they in turn would find the undercover detective that they had successfully seduced together for two weeks. As it happened, John was sent back to London unexpectedly when he was shot roughly four months later. He met back up with James within three weeks and his search for William Sherlock Scott Holmes commenced.

They were successfully reunited five weeks ago. And that brought an unusual kind of domesticity upon Sherlock’s flat on Montague St.

In the beginning, John and James would merely stop by. If Sherlock was occupied with a case, they would simply try to coax him to at least eat some toast. On his free nights, John and James would sit and watch television on mute while Sherlock played something on his violin. Or they would play board games and eat take away. Some nights would end with them retreating to the bedroom, locked together as they clumsily maneuvered down the hallway so they could all continue to touch each other. Other nights, John would drape a half asleep Sherlock over his shoulders and James would help keep him moving with his good side and they would all fall together in a heap before twisting together in an exhausted pile.

Either way, James and John would end up in Sherlock’s bed in some kind of state of undress, wrapped up within him, and Sherlock found that for once, he was sleeping at a normal hour. That is, as long as he didn’t have a case occupying his brain. Eventually, John and James found a place with The Work as well.

John, as it turned out, craved the rush that could only be brought forth by adrenaline pumping through one’s veins. He helped Sherlock on the field – taking notes, examining bodies, assisting in a chase on foot, bringing down suspects whenever necessary. Something about it kept him smiling, and kept his usually rather unruly temper somewhat at bay.

James, on the other hand, acted more behind the scenes. He’d organize notes when needed for NSY, track down leads, did the more extensive research, and when Sherlock and John got in over their heads (and they always did), act as negotiator to get them into or out of whatever trouble they needed to be in or out of. In exchange, it gave him a purpose – something he had been searching for in the time between his injury and John coming back.

As it turned out, Sherlock Holmes had made the two of them useful. They repaid him for this service with amazing sex – which, as they discovered, Sherlock wasn’t in constant need of, but definitely required it from time to time.

Especially after cases.

During cases, Sherlock was often locked up in his own mind. All that would matter was what was churning in his head, and he became more tactless than he usually was because social graces no longer mattered. The more difficult the case, the deeper in Sherlock’s mind he would retreat. When it was over, there were two results – a good result and a bad result – depending on a number of factors: what kind of case it was, what the solution was, if he solved it, if there were unnecessary casualties – the list went on.

And each result had their own variation of the same solution, because Sherlock Holmes’ vow towards abstinence only lasted until the case was over and he could no longer keep his mind occupied. And of course, John and James would be there for him.

Not that Sherlock fully realized the pattern just yet. He didn’t need to. He had two rather dedicated and loving men to take care of that for him. And, most importantly, they loved doing it.

So it wasn’t unusual for John’s phone to chime a text alert as he sat beside a rather fidgety detective who was, understandably, all smiles.

_How is he?_

_Perfect. We’re on our way home now._

_Can handle him on your own then?_

_Sure. But why? Is he too much for you now?_

There was a long pause that caused John to wrinkle his nose a bit and frown before he added. _Hey. You okay?_

_I’m fine. He just had me up all night looking at train routes, remember?_

_Ah. Yes. Then I suppose that’s alright. See you in a moment. Just pulled up._

John pocketed his phone before he got the responding, _See you then_ , chasing after a hopped up Sherlock Holmes who darted out the taxi door without looking back. John lingered back only long enough to pay the cabbie before he followed Sherlock up to their flat on Montague, the taller man a spitfire of exhilaration that made his whole body taut as he barreled up the stairs. “Oh, John! That was perfect… Perfect!” he exclaimed as he burst through the door, rubbing his hands together as he seemed desperate to keep moving.

John shrugged out of his jacket, catching James’ eye as Sherlock continued to whirl around the flat in a high speed tizzy, hyped up on the rush of a good chase, and a proper challenge that could only be brought on by a madman on the brink of a killing spree.

“James! You should have been there! It was absolutely brilliant!” Sherlock’s voice had dropped to a dangerous snarl as he pressed his clasped hands to his lips. John signaled James with a quick nod, Sherlock’s manic state of exuberance was reaching critical levels and if they didn’t act quick, he’d drop too quickly and their beloved consulting detective would mentally crash like a jet whose engines burned out all at once. James signaled back from where he sat on the couch and the game, as it was now, was on.

As Sherlock rushed past him, John reached out and caught him by the wrist, tugging lightly, reeling him back to him. Sherlock spun and halted the second he connected with John’s chest, looking down into those deep blue eyes. His breath caught in his throat when his back was forced back up against the door. The momentary look of bewilderment passed as John’s name passed his lips in a soft exhale. John smiled as he took Sherlock’s face between his hands and brought his face closer to him, pecking his lips first.

“Hey,” he whispered, breathing into Sherlock as the man’s body started to relax, become more pliant, more compliant as John’s fingers started to fiddle with the buttons on Sherlock’s cuffs. A soft, barely audible ‘hey’ answered back and John pulled his head back to avoid the inevitable crashing of lips, “You here with me?” he brought his hands to Sherlock’s hair, pushing it back from his face so he could properly search for a response.

Sherlock nodded, his hands grasping at John’s shirt, cuffs hanging loosely from his wrists, before he managed to verbalize a very quiet, throaty ‘yeah’. He trailed off, cleared his throat and swallowed. “I’m here,” he added before John swooped upwards and captured Sherlock’s mouth in his own. John pulled back only to make quick work of Sherlock’s buttons, pushing his shirt open, pressing his lips to the spattering of freckles that stretched over Sherlock’s pale shoulders as they were bared to him.

Sherlock’s shirt fell to the floor as John pulled him away from the door, and he followed him with a sly grin on his face. He let out a startled grunt as his back hit the sofa cushions, his head falling just short of James’ lap. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked back at James expectantly. James smiled and ran his hand through Sherlock’s hair before he bent over and kissed his forehead. Sherlock gasped, his attention drawn downwards as John quickly pulled his trousers and pants to his ankles with one expert yank. He helped John rid them completely with two kicks to his feet.

Sherlock sucked in a slow breath, his legs falling open automatically as John crawled over him, pressing his clothed body to Sherlock’s completely bare skin. Sherlock’s head fell back against James’ thigh as he arched towards the friction of John’s khaki trousers against his half-hard erection. Sherlock wound his hands down as John’s lips slid against his neck. He popped open John’s fly, the zipper pushed down as he worked his hand inside, just before John caught his wrist and forced Sherlock’s hands above his head, looking to James. “Help me keep him still?”

Sherlock shook his head as James gathered both his wrists in his one hand before he whined quite shamelessly, “No… need you. Now.” He locked eyes with John, wetting his lower lip with the tip of his tongue before drawing it into his teeth. “Please.” John shook his head as he brought himself up onto his knees, shrugging out of his cardigan.

“Quit being a brat,” John reprimanded, but it lost all bite when he smiled. James released Sherlock’s hands long enough to pass John the lube, which John accepted with a nod. He set it down on Sherlock’s quivering belly, Sherlock’s eyes drawn to it, watching it dance across his skin with each quaking breath. John snatched it up again, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and poured a copious amount of it on two of his finger, slicking them up before he moved downward and pressed against Sherlock’s entrance, making the taller man jerk a little, twisting at his hips, as the tight, puckered muscle was circled with the very tips of his fingers. Sherlock growled a little from frustration, looking to James to ease it.

“James…” he whined and James shook his head, knowing full well what kind of game Sherlock was trying to play. He gathered up Sherlock’s wrists a little tighter, pressing them back against his leg as he leaned down and brushed his lips along their detective’s hairline.

“Let John take care of you, Sherlock. You know he will…” he whispered into Sherlock’s curls, smiling against them as Sherlock squirmed as the first finger pressed inside him. “See?”

Sherlock closed his eyes, panting lightly from his struggles as he resigned himself to John’s careful touch. Gasps and soft moans peppered his breaths as he felt John stretch him with his fingers, working in a second. White noise filled his head, a small smile tipping up on one side of his lips when he felt John’s mouth to his ear, his breath warm and soothing as he whispered.

“Still with me?” and Sherlock nodded, swiveling his head back at his neck, bringing his lips to John’s, one of his hands loosened from James’ grip so he could reach back and lightly press his short nails to the nape of John’s neck. The passion building in the kiss stopped short as Sherlock fell back with a cry as John pressed in a third finger, twisting them together inside him.

As John withdrew his fingers, James released Sherlock’s other wrist, allowing him to be flipped fully onto his back once more. Sherlock looked between his legs to see John push his trousers and pants down to finally release his overly neglected cock. Sherlock licked his lips without thought as he stared at the modest length coupled with a rather impressively thick girth. John’s extra care towards preparing him came with reason, after all. He stared at it greedily before his focus was snapped upwards as John grasped the back of his knees.

Sherlock’s eyes rolled back as he felt John guide himself into him. It was slow. Careful. Gentle. As his ankles came to rest on John’s shoulders, he felt John’s palm rest against his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed the moment he felt John shift and start to pull out. He tilted his head back, slipping it further into James’ lap. He turned his head, short breaths falling against the bulge that had started to form in James’ trousers. He messily mouthed at the fabric, groaning when John thrust back into him. Fingers pressed against his mouth, his tongue inquisitively swiping across the pads before he brought in the tips and sucked on them needily. When they were pulled away, his tongue darted from his mouth in a vain attempt to draw them back.

“Ah… god!” Sherlock’s voice carried in the small flat when James used to his moistened fingers to pluck at Sherlock’s right nipple before he rubbed at it lightly. There was a sudden sense of desperation filling him as his mind numbed, his hands clawing at both men above and beneath him. His eyes fell back to John before he reached up and brought him down for a kiss, teeth tugging at his bottom lip as he growled – that carnal sound he made when his mind finally spun to a stop and all he could do was feel. “Fuck me hard, John,” he begged. “Can’t.. Stand it anymore…” He moaned when James damp fingers teased and twisted his left nipple, sending uncontrollable shivers up his spine. “Fuck!” Sherlock cried as John slowed, causing tears of frustration to start to slip down his cheeks.

“Shh… shh…” John hushed him, pressing his lips to each curve of Sherlock’s cheeks. “You’re so beautiful when you’ve been completely unwound. Don’t get angry when I want to draw it out.”

“I fucking hate you, John Watson,” Sherlock whimpered and both John and James chuckled at him good-naturedly.

“No you don’t,” John corrected softly.

“No I don’t,” Sherlock agreed as he sought another kiss to have it granted with enthusiasm. His hands balled into fists as he felt John pick up his pace, his body falling back as the other man started to pound into him, ankles slipping from his shoulders as his thighs parted wider. John caught him by one knee to keep him from slipping sideways off the couch. James grabbed the other knee to keep him centered, keeping John’s other hand free to stroke Sherlock to match his pace.

Sherlock shuddered, fingers digging into the fabric of James’ trousers as he was fucked into oblivion, his pitch downright vulgar as words tumbled out on hot breath.

“God yes…” he purred, voice less like silk and more like coarse velvet and gravel. “John… yes… you… you always know… always know… fuck… just like that…” His hands flew to his face, pressing one palm to his eyes as his other covered his mouth. John’s rhythm faltered as he moved his hand from where it slid to the underside of Sherlock’s lower thigh to pry at one of his wrists.

“No… no no no…” John soothed, fingers twining with Sherlock’s as he uncovered the man’s lips, pressing his own against them. “Don’t cover your face,” he insisted. Sherlock’s hand against his eyes slowly fell away, the delicate blue gray color of larimar glistened from behind dilated pupils. It was enough to steal John’s breath from him before he fought to keep his voice, “Never… cover your face.”

The pause in their frenzy stretched over several long seconds before it all began again. Sherlock was back to gasping cries of pleasure as John resumed his frantic pace. He kept his eyes locked with John’s the best he could, until flashes of white forced them closed.

They both laid still, John slumped forward on his elbows, head dropped down, his chin to his chest as he tried to catch his breath. Sherlock cradled the back of his head, pressing his lips to his hair as his nails lightly brushed along his scalp. He tilted his head back to see James looking at them with a smile before he finally ventured to ask, “What about you?”

James shook his head and pressed his palm to the bulge in his trousers before he shifted in slight discomfort. “I’ll get taken care of. Don’t worry.”

Sherlock pushed himself up the couch with the heels of his feet, causing John to groan before he slowly started to extract himself from the detective beneath him. Sherlock seemed to pay it little mind, now that James was in his focus. “I want to…” he whispered, his mouth pressing against the fabric, causing James to groan.

“Sherlock… you need rest…”

Sherlock shook his head, John already wiping him down with a damp flannel from the kitchen. “No… I need you…”

James couldn’t argue as Sherlock managed to undo his fly and wind his hand in to free James’ erection from his pants. “Sherlock…” was his only other argument before the moist heat of Sherlock’s mouth drew him in. He groaned, looking over as a sated John had managed to drape Sherlock’s body across his lap so he could lean against James’ side.

“You know how he is,” John whispered. “Once he gets a thought… he has to follow through…” John reached down, wrapping his hand around what Sherlock couldn’t fit in his mouth, their rhythms matching in synchronized movements.

“Jesus Christ… the both of you…” James swore before his head fell back and he let the two sated men bring him into a state of euphoria.

 

* * *

  
There was a slam that sent a small tremor through the flat as the door to their bedroom was shut quite violently. James stood still in the sitting room as John trailed slowly through the front door of the flat and the two exchanged knowing looks.

When Sherlock Holmes had a bad case, it was always messy. It was always ugly. And it was always going to hurt in some way.

James stared at John, the clear question of ‘What happened?’ on his face. John, in turn, just held up his fingers and followed Sherlock’s path to the bedroom and lightly knocked on the door. “Sherlock?” he tested the doorknob before signaling to James, who was already passing the screwdriver to him. Dismantling the doorknob seemed excessive, but they had been through enough bad cases to know that it was most definitely necessary.

James pushed the door open with his shoulder just as John disabled the lock with a pair of pliers, hearing the lock release with a click. John followed close behind, squeezing James’ bicep as they looked on Sherlock, laying on their bed – still and very bare. “Sherlock…” John sighed as he slid next to the prone man, pressing his hand to his back, his thumb rubbing light circles until Sherlock shrugged him off. “You solved the case…” he reminded, not just for Sherlock’s sake, but to catch James up on the past six hours.

“I didn’t solve it fast enough.”

“Rubbish. It got tricky.”

“Don’t patronize me, John. It was obvious. You could of solved it! James could have solved it! Fucking Lestrade could have solved it!”

“Hey!” John flipped Sherlock onto his back, pinning him down so he couldn’t roll away. “You listen to me. Sherlock. You’re brilliant. I’m not making that up. You’re a genius human being but you are still vulnerable to the occasional mistake. We weren’t that far behind…”

“We were right there!”

James sucked in a breath as he caught up to the problem, sitting down on the bed. “Sherlock, you can’t save everyone…”

“Like you know anything about it!” Sherlock snapped a bit too soon, before he could think, before he could properly process the words he was so carelessly threw out into the open. They rung in the following silence and he slouched, shaking his head, sputtering out apologies to try to bring the words back, to erase them. “James… I… I’m sorry, I didn’t… I wasn’t…”

“You’re a downright arsehole, Sherlock Holmes,” James quipped in a cold voice as he pushed John aside.

“James…” but James held up a finger, silencing any kind of placating argument John would slather over the situation. Instead, he used all his strength in his good arm to flip Sherlock back to his stomach, lifting his hips to prop him up on his knees.

There was a loud slurping sound as James sucked on his index finger and popped it from his mouth. “You’re brilliant, and wonderful, and sexy as hell, and you make us complete… but you get into one of your snits and you do everything in your power to sabotage everything around. And we let you. We coddle you. We take you to bed. We tell you it’ll be alright and in the end? It just encourages you…” He shook his head, shooting a look at John who blinked a little in alarm. “Help me spread his cheeks,” James murmured just loud enough and John began to catch up.

When Sherlock was at his lowest, his mind would start to punish him. Make him over think. Start to degrade him. The best way to disarm it was to shut it down completely. And while Sherlock always loved it, always begged and pleaded before he’d give in completely, it always came with the bittersweet reminder that he was just as vulnerable to his body’s needs as the normal human being.

But he loved being worshiped, whether in body or mind, that never changed. And if Sherlock was so far down to start lashing out at James… then John was next and… well… they needed to act quick.

And this was the quickest way to get Sherlock out of his own head.

There was a soft thump of Sherlock’s fist hitting the one of the pillows at the front of the bed with the first swipe of James’ tongue. He pressed his damp finger just against Sherlock’s entrance, watching it twitch. John held Sherlock’s cheeks apart as he pressed his lips against the base of Sherlock’s spine, a small smirk lifting his mouth as his eyes darted to meet James’. John turned his body, straddling Sherlock’s back so he could follow the path of James’ finger with his tongue. They exchanged smiles at Sherlock’s frustrated whimpers. James braced himself to lean in as John pulled away, chuckling softly as John whispered against his hair. “You can feel him shaking…”

James took this as encouragement, sucking at Sherlock’s skin before he stiffened his tongue, running the very tip back and forth against Sherlock’s furled hole in a manner that completely obliterated his composure. He worked Sherlock open until saliva was dripping down his chin, his jaw aching slightly, and when he pulled away, exhausted breath hot against Sherlock’s hip, John was quick to replace him. Swirling his tongue, jabbing it into the writhing man beneath them. That same growl. It always sounded the same. Deep and low and rough, like a rumbling purr caught in his throat cut back by a moan. “There he is,” James whispered, knuckles pressed against Sherlock’s perineum as John pressed his tongue as deep inside him as he could. “Are you done being a brat?”

Sherlock’s answered hitched on a moan as John gave his hole one parting suck with a loud slurping noise. He swung his leg over and rolled off of Sherlock, who was practically vibrating from the shudders and shivers that tightened his body, a damp spot on the sheets from his leaking prick. John stood, shedding himself of his clothes before he walked over and helped James do the same. They shared sweet, quick kisses, James turning his head as he pulled John in his lap, watching as Sherlock struggled to push himself up. He didn’t get far, slipping as he got to his elbows, and sliding back down, his knees spreading further open, his hips pressing downwards as he sought relief.

“Ah!” John and James both reached out to pull up Sherlock’s hips, the youngest man whining in protest. The two stout and solid men maneuvered Sherlock’s pale lithe body easily, Sherlock kicking at the sheets a little as he was pulled in between them. “You didn’t answer my question,” James rasped against Sherlock’s ear as Sherlock’s head came to rest on his good shoulder. “Are you done being a brat?”

Sherlock nodded in response and James kissed his cheek. “You sure?”

“Yeah…” Sherlock shuddered as James took him in hand and gasped as he was pulled back against John’s chest.

“Then John and I are going to take turns with you and you’re going to ride us both until you can’t see straight… how’s that sound?” James grinned at Sherlock’s enthusiastic nod, the almost shy smile crossing his face. “Oh, Sherlock…” he whispered as he pressed his lips to it. “All the filthy things we do to you and you can still smile like that…. John…” He reached over and grabbed the lube from the nightstand, tossing it to the other man. “He’s yours first.”

 

* * *

 

John was first to notice, or at least, he was the first to have it wake him. He reached out his hand and groped at sheets where the sated body of Sherlock Holmes was meant to be. His eyes snapped open and he darted upwards, feeling around the bed as his eyes tried to adjust to the dark. When all he could find was James’ sleeping body beside him, he reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, nearly blinding them both.

“James… James get up. He’s gone.”

James rose quickly, rubbing at his eyes with his fist as he took in a steady breath. “Gone? What do you mean gone?”

“I mean he’s not in bed. Get up.” John pulled on his jeans and grabbed a thin t-shirt, darting out of the bedroom to search the rest of the flat. James pulled on some trousers as fast as he could before he padded after John, his own alarm beginning to rise when he realized Sherlock’s signature coat was missing. “He’s not here.” John confirmed, looking rattled and they both took deep breaths to try to stay calm.

“Okay… okay. He’s disappeared before, John. This isn’t new. He always comes back.”

“Yeah, but not after something like this, James. Not after a case has gone that badly. We can usually keep him home…”

“John. Stop. He’s a grown man. He can make his own decisions. We just have to find him, okay?” James squeezed John’s arm reassuringly. “I’ll check where he hides his cigarettes… and for anything else. You contact Mycroft. Whatever direction Sherlock’s gone, he’ll know… hey…” James brought John in for a kiss before he whispered. “We didn’t fail him. Okay? We do what we can to shut his mind down… but we can’t account for when it boots back up… right? We learned this years ago in Afghanistan…”

“I know…” John nodded and swallowed before he swiped at his eyes, clenching his jaw as he breathed hard through his nose. “I’ll find him. You check the flat…”

“I’ll let you know if I find anything or if he comes back. Now go.”

 

* * *

 

Smoking on a park bench. After calling Mycroft, calling Lestrade (not that they needed to be contacted separately, really, but just in case), calling James back, and numerous text messages sent to Sherlock’s phone, John tracked him down – to a park bench where Sherlock was chain smoking half a pack, his fifth cigarette perched between his index and middle fingers with his thumb pressed against his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said almost reflexively, his voice rough from smoke and still a little sleep.

“Sherlock… what happened?” John bypassed the worried rage and sat beside Sherlock with a sigh. “You seemed so good when we went to bed… what happened?”

“I… just can’t stop thinking about it… it woke me up. I had to get out. I’m sorry…”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Sherlock placed the cigarette back between his lips as he stood, taking a deep drag of smoke and blowing it out between his tight lips in a thin curl. “There’s something that I feel like I’m missing.”

“You solved the case, Sherlock… maybe not as quickly as you’d like but…”

“No! No… there’s something else. I can’t… I just can’t put my finger on it. I keep going over everything over and over and… I can’t figure it out. Something just seems… wrong. I thought maybe… after… everything…” he gestured vaguely in John’s direction, which only made John smile a little.

“You mean James and I thoroughly eating out your arsehole before taking turns fucking you senseless?” John couldn’t help but tease.

“John! Please. We’re near a playground… there could be children…”

“At three in the morning,” John amended, “And you are far from prudish…” He stood up and plucked Sherlock’s cigarette from his hand, dropping it to the ground and extinguishing with the toe of his shoe. “Sherlock, whatever it is… whatever you’re thinking… I would very much rather you do it at ho…” John was cut off by the ring of Sherlock’s phone. Sherlock frowned as he dug it out of his pocket and answered it.

“Hello?”

And in an instant, as John watched Sherlock’s complexion turn to ash under the low glow of streetlamps, he felt his own throat swell and his heart slow to a stop. “What is it?” he choked out as Sherlock, fear struck hung up his phone and asked.

“Where’s James?”

“Home… wh… wait… Sherlock!”

 

* * *

 

The fire was loud. Roaring. Loud pops and cracks with the sound of shattering glass as it bathed Montague Street with an angry orange glow, heat flicking at furiously at whomever dared to approach it.

And Sherlock, desperate and winded and terrified, collided at break neck speed with several firefighters who struggled to keep hold of him as he struggled to break past them. Their canned words of warning of the dangers, that he couldn’t get closer, fell to deaf ears as he continued to push forward.

“James!” he screamed, an unearthly sound that tore from his gut and wracked his chest as he was hurled backwards, away from the fire. Tears stung his eyes as he looked upwards, past the angry glow and to the black, billowing smoke that rose above. “No!” He sobbed, squinting to try to focus on the nearest face to him. His heart pounded in double time, threatening to sink lower in his chest with each resounding thud, “My boyfriend… please… He’s…”

“Sherlock!” John’s voice cut through his panicked haze and he turned against the two remaining men who were trying to calm him down. He searched for the face that matched the voice, sucking in a breath of relief when he saw it. “He’s fine. He’s over here!” John grabbed Sherlock’s arm and pulled him back, assuring the other men that he had him. That he wouldn’t let him near the house. “Come on. Greg called when I was on my way here. He’s over here…. Come on…” John pressed a kiss to his temple as Sherlock slumped against him in exhaustion and relief, leading him to the back of a paramedic’s vehicle, where James sat upright, oxygen mask pressed to his face. He coughed and sputtered as he lowered the mask, cheeks streaked with soot, a blanket draped over his naked shoulders. He held out his good arm as Sherlock drew closer, wrapping it around him as the tall man seemed to just crumble against him.

“Hey…” he forced out with a cough. “Hey… it’s okay… you okay?” He swiped Sherlock’s hair from his face as Sherlock pressed his temple to James’ shoulder, sucking in his scent, marred by the smell of smoke on his skin. John came in close, kissing James in relief, the three of them caring less about the display they were making.

“What happened?” John demanded as the kiss broke and James coughed again, holding the oxygen to his mouth again for a moment before he passed it off to a rather put out looking paramedic.

“I honestly couldn’t tell you. I was in the back bedroom, searching the closet when I noticed the smoke. I opened the door and the fire was already at our front door and living room. Moved fast. No way it was natural…”

“How’d you get out?”

James held up his hand. “Listen, I might be one armed anymore, but I could still get to the fire escape out the kitchen window…” He held up his bandaged hand before he shifted so Sherlock could cling on him a bit more comfortably. “See you found him…”

“Yeah… in a park… we’re a bit more concerned about you right now though.”

“I’m fine. I really wasn’t in it that long… Sherlock… I’m burning up, you’ve gotta let me go… come here…” He maneuvered Sherlock to sit beside him, setting his head in his lap, which Sherlock accepted without much fight. His eyes were red and his cheeks were blotchy from sobbing. John reached down and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair before the emotionally compromised detective reached out and held his hand to his face.

“You’re ruining your image as the stoic and heartless machine, you know.”

“Fuck my image,” Sherlock whispered. “I’d be lost without my soldiers…”

James just threw his head back and laughed as he rubbed the back of Sherlock’s neck. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s true!”

“I know it is, I believe you!” James smiled before he bounced his knee up to coax Sherlock to sit upright. He looked at John with a smile, who very reluctantly returned it (his nerves were rather fried, so to speak). He brought Sherlock in close to kiss him briefly before pressing his lips to his cheek. “The same goes for us.”

John smiled as well before he pressed a relieved kiss to Sherlock’s temple first before kissing his lips just as James did. “We’d be lost without our detective,” he whispered before he pressed his forehead against Sherlock’s and sighed. They all pulled away as Greg walked up, hands on his hips, though they didn’t pull back very far.

“You really should give him some air, you know.”

“They’re fine,” James insisted as Sherlock leaned against his shoulder and John slid down to sit on the other side of him. “What do you know?”

“Well… not much right now… but they have it under control so it won’t spread. Won’t know much of anything until they can get in there to see where it started. Not that it’s my department… but… Mycroft’s got a room set up for you at a nearby hotel and the paramedics would really like to take you to the hospital.”

“Too bad. I’m not going.”

“You sure as hell are,” John snapped to which James straightened his spin and pressed his lips together in a thin line.

“Fine.”

“Okay then, I’ll let them know. Is he okay?”

“He’ll be fine… hey…” John helped Sherlock to his feet, though getting him to uncling from James took a lot of his strength. “It’s fine. He’s going to the hospital. We’ll follow. Okay? You’re not losing us.”

Sherlock frowned deeply as he looked back to the fire that was starting to shrink and die. He tapped his fingers sporadically against his thighs from inside his pockets before he pulled out a crumpled up piece of paper.

“Lestrade?” he called out, his focus shifting as he started to unfold it. “Lestrade!”

“What?”

“This!” He thrust the paper at the DI rather impatiently. “I found this on my person after the last case.”

“And you didn’t think to show this to me now because….?”

“Because it didn’t make sense before but now it does. Don’t lecture me just read it!”

Greg sighed as he pulled out a handkerchief before he very carefully took the offered paper. His eyes raked over it and frowned. “This is a threat.”

“Yes.”

John frowned as he moved to look over Greg’s shoulder, tilting his head. “This is what was bother you… this is what you were trying to figure out….”

“Yes. I thought it had something to do with the case but it doesn’t. That’s what I couldn’t place… but now… it’s me. This is about me.”

The three of them crowded around a simple piece of very fine stationary that had been ripped in half. Upon the bottom, scrawled in very fine lettering it read,

_Don’t be greedy._

**Author's Note:**

> Next stop? Baker St!
> 
> For those of you who are keeping score:  
> James has topped Sherlock once in the first part, once in the second, and once in this part.  
> John has topped Sherlock once in the first part and twice in this part.  
> So right now they're tied. ;)
> 
> They legit get to share Sherlock equally. We'll delve more into the mechanics of their actual relationship in part four - so stay tuned!


End file.
